If She Wants Me
by unbearablelightness
Summary: "Alright then, it's a date." Pam and Jim's date, post The Job.


_If I could do just one near perfect thing I'd be happy_

_They'd write it on my grave_

_Or when they scattered my ashes_

_On second thought I'd rather hang around and be there with my best friend_

_If she wants me_

If She Wants Me – Belle and Sebastian

They were going on a date. One word, big implications. The way Jim had so sweetly informed her that it was going to be a date was burned into her brain. It flashed in front of her eyes as she exited the conference room, gathered her things from the nearly empty office, gazed at Jim's empty desk, and left to go home.

Stuck under the windshield wiper of her Yaris was a note:

_Be ready for seven. –Jim _

Tucked in beside the sticky note was a yogurt lid. Not the Office Olympics yogurt medal from years prior, but a more modern plastic Yoplait yogurt lid. In mixed berry. Nice touch.

.

Pam was a fitful of nerves. Never one to emphasize physical beauty over substance, she did her best not to overthink an outfit. She wore something appropriate for dinner nearly anywhere in Scranton: narrow-legged black pants and a paisley camisole and black boots.

Seven o'clock could not come fast enough. She had a glass of Sauvignon Blanc to carry her over to the long-awaited doorbell ring. She doodled on a notepad with a coal pencil, an anxious knot in her stomach. Wine didn't seem to help. She chose to push back all the thoughts in her head and focus on recreating the April image on her Georgia O'Keefe calendar.

.

Finally, a buzz at the intercom. "It's Jim!"

"I'll let you up!"

She pressed the unlock button and took a swig of her wine while he rode the elevator up to her floor. One final look in the mirror to ensure she had no boogers of any sort, and the Jim knocked on the door.

Pam felt slightly airless as she opened the door. There he was, brown pants and a charcoal grey sweater with a white collared shirt peeking out underneath. He looked, Pam thought, adorable. His haircut really suited him.

His voice was as nervous as hers when he said: "Wow." And then, he exaggeratedly turned and walked away. Pam laughed, thank god. He came back, grinning, shaking his head. "Sorry. I'm just incredibly nervous."

Pam was so glad to continue laughing and to indulge in honesty. "I'm right there with you on that."

Jim shrugged, a big grin on his face. Then he laughed a laugh that broke the tension between the two of them. She smiled and invited him in. It was only after the initial awkwardness broke that Pam noticed two fabric grocery bags swinging from his hands.

"You might be wondering why I ran errands beforehand." Jim motioned to the bags.

"Trying to save on gas?"

"Exactly."

The atmosphere was nice. All the tension had melted away.

"Nah, actually, I thought…" He shrugged again, "that instead of going out for dinner, we could cook!"

It was the little things like that, the creativity an d the deviation from the standard, that had made Pam fall for Jim. Cook dinner together? Why not. She grinned, knowing full well that Jim knew that she rarely had someone make her dinner. "Sounds great." Happiness croaked in her voice. She led him to the kitchen. "What are we making?"

.

The kitchen, Pam realized, was a mess. So was the rest of her apartment, really. She hadn't foreseen Jim wanting to hang out in the kitchen. She quickly tidied her countertop as Jim unloaded the grocery bags.

"Well I had to scour a lot of internet websites to find something. As you know, I rarely expand beyond my acclaimed grilled cheese sandwich. But you've experienced that, so I figured I had to up the steaks."

"We're having steak?"

Jim grinned. "No, but that would have been a clever segwey." He pulled out two fresh filets of orange. "We're having salmon!"

Pam approved of this. Jim made a crack about looking out for her mental health with the omega 3's, about finding a recipe on and buying cedar planks at the seafood market because, apparently, cedar plank salmon was superior to all other methods of cooked salmon.

.

So, they cooked. He showed her the printed-out recipe, presented her with an orchid in a delightfully cute blue pot (Jim emphasized how, if the flower was planted this way, it would survive way long than any flowers in water. Pam considered the subtext of this gesture), and a bottle of wine Jim explained his choice for the wine, saying that he _also _scoured the internet for tips on how to pair wine with a meal. He said it seemed like a lot of bull, but the guy at the grocer y store recommended Pinot Gris to enhance plank-roasted salmon.

"Who am I to argue with that?" Jim shrugged and uncorked the wine.

Pam supplied him with glasses. He poured her a glass, then one for himself and they cheers'd. "To our first date?" Pam suggested, smiling. Inwardly, they mutually recalled the tension around the term 'first date' years prior, after Jim had referred to their rooftop grilled cheese as a date.

"To our long-awaited first date."

.

Cooking was profoundly intimate. Pam had always known this, but had never experienced it firsthand. It wasn't intimate in the sense that Jim stood behind her, holding onto the wooden spoon while she stirred the sauce, grinding into her. It was intimate in the practice. Creating something, freeballing spices, tasting items as you went along. It was sexy. And Jim didn't help her stir something once. It was the little things that made cooking sexy. Pronunciation of ingredients, aromas, brushing past one another. Sharing such a small space, creating a meal that they were going to share together.

It far exceeded any sort of vending machine flirtation they'd ever had in the office.

.

While the water for the risotto boiled and the salmon cooked, Pam used the opportunity to show Jim around her apartment. It dawned on her that he had never seen it.

"I'm assuming you're dying to see what material possessions Pam Beesly has."

Jim laughed. "You have no idea."

She poured them each another glass of wine and began the tour. Looping him through the living room, the office that really functioned as a storage room with an art easel and a big wooden desk for drawing, her bedroom and the bathroom.

Jim took interest in practically everything. He was elated to look at her book collection, her DVD collection, her art samples in the spare bedroom, photographs, shampoo preference. There was an honest-to-god look of interest all over his face as they toured.

It was, Pam couldn't help but notice, similar to the expression she likely wore at his barbeque a few years back. This time, though, the flirtation was not as taboo or secretive. It was all out on the table. Except Pam had so many questions burning in the pit of her stomach that she wanted to ask.

.

They sat down for dinner at her kitchen table. The meal looked and smelled fantastic. Pam tried to be light and focus on the meal and her company, but her nerves had kicked back in. There was Jim, sitting across from her at her kitchen table, looking dapper in an ensemble that he had chosen with her in mind, grinning as he ate a dinner they prepared together.

"I've outdone myself." Jim chewed happily and swallowed, sipping the Pinot Gris as he ate.

Pam agreed. "It really is great." She too, took a sip of her wine. Her brain hummed with questions. "Jim…" She began hesitantly, squishing a grain of rice under her fork. She looked up at him, her total confusion of the trajectory of how they arrived where they were, on a date, written on her face. "What happened in New York?"

Jim inhaled heavily and shrugged. A doe-eyed expression overtook his face. He looked wrought with nerves, like he couldn't articulate his words. "I just… couldn't do it." He shrugged again. "Living in New York, working for Corporate? That's not me."

Pam couldn't deny this, and she didn't, but she wanted more of an explanation than "the job just wasn't right for me". She wanted to know how he went from competing for a job with his ex-girlfriend Karen to sitting across from Pam in her kitchen days later.

Pam tilted her head, indicating she wished Jim would elaborate.

He did. "Your note. And the Olympic medal?" A soulful look spread across his face, spreading his lips into a smile. It suddenly felt strange, the pressure to have a full-on adult conversation; no cutting corners, no office-related reasons to excuse yourself.

The wine helped.

"Sorry, I didn't have to bring this up so soon." Pam forked a bite of salmon into her mouth, still wishing he'd continue. For an honest start. She'd been a devout preacher of honesty and forthrightness lately.

Jim shrugged once more, the starry-eyed expression returning to his face. Pam had seen this expression before and, truth be told, was thrilled to see it again. "I couldn't move away from you. David Wallace was asking me all these questions, and then I saw the medal and it was just… so you. And what you had said at the beach, about wishing I had would come back? I guess I just realized right then that I needed to go back."

Pam felt warm all over.

"If I had ever really fully gone away to begin with." He clarified. "It was just kind of a 'what are you _doing' _moment, you know?"

Pam nodded. She almost squirmed with delight in her chair. "I'm really glad that you did."

Jim smiled and let out a puff of shy, amused air, beaming up at her over his raised glass of wine. "I'm really glad you feel that way."

It was nice; an almost youthful glow unrequited love finally being mutual. It all felt so surreal, having this open discussion with him. It was surreal and entirely natural, all at once.

Pam took a sip of her wine. "And so…Karen?"

Jim winced. "_That_ I'm not so proud of. After I saw your note and bolted from the interview, I ran downtown to meet her where she was having lunch with her friends. I explained that going back to Scranton was just something I had to do, that it wouldn't be right if I stayed with her."

His explanation caused Pam to wince too. "Oh jeez. How'd she take it?"

"Not we_ll. _She was upset. I left her at the fountain in front of the restaurant. I wanted to get back to catch you before you left today."

"God, it feels so long ago." Pam mused, "I mean, I don't know, I guess today has just been a crazy day. With Dwight as manager, Michael coming back, _you _coming back."

Jim agreed with this. "Really crazy."

.

They continued on discussing the matter of Karen for a while longer. They discussed the events of the last year; it just came pouring out of them. Neither of them had any first date sensor on. Perhaps all formality had been left at the door. It was just the two of them, full disclosure, reuniting after years of miscommunication and misunderstandings.

Their conversation carried on until nine thirty, when Pam looked at the clock on her microwave, realizing they had barely finished their plates of food. The two laughed about this, cleared their plates into Pam's sink and put the leftovers into plastic containers.

Pam poured them the rest of the Sauvignon Blanc she'd been drinking earlier and suggested that they sit in the living room. While Pam excused herself to grab a sweater, Jim sat on a chair in the living room, flipping through a worn copy of _A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. _

Rejoining him in the living room, Pam took off her boots and pushed up the sleeves of her pumpkin colored cardigan.

"I've never seen that sweater on you before." Jim stated. The matter-of-fact way he said it led Pam to believe that yes, in fact, he knew her cardigan rotation.

Pam grinned. "It's my weekend sweater." Her tone was playful. "You know, real casual."

"Very nice."

.

Conversation went on in the living room until past midnight. They had graduated from wine to herbal tea and from a string of serious grievances to the occasional light-hearted story that they thought the other would enjoy.

It was exhilarating and nostalgic. She admired the comfortable way Jim sat on her furniture, picking at the untidy selection of _things _abound in the room. He laughed at pictures, flipped through novels that had her pencil marks in the margins; asked her questions about topics he had never dared ask her before.

"How often do you paint?"

She replied, "As often as I can. I mostly do water colors – some acrylic. I've been really into coal pencils lately. I don't know. The simplicity of the black and white is really nice. Uncomplicated." She took a deep breath, bracing herself for her new forthrightness. "I have a sketchbook in the kitchen, if you want to see?"

Jim lit up. "Definitely."

So she showed him the thirty or so pages of drawings she'd filled the notebook with. A lot of it was just random recreations of things in her apartment. A few were sketches of people or places. With each page, Jim fawned over her work with heartbreaking sincerity.

Stopping on a page of a kite in a park, Jim said slowly: "Listen, Pam… I'm sorry I didn't come to your art show."

Pam was taken aback. Yes, it hurt that Jim didn't come, but she hadn't been expecting an apology. Instead of sloughing off the apology, she nodded. "Thank you. I wanted you to come."

Jim looked apologetic at this. "Deep down, I think I wanted to go, to support you... but I don't know. I was mad I guess. I had just seen you leave Phyllis's wedding with Roy and… I was unjustifiably mad by that, too. I guess I just felt like I didn't want to indulge in that side of me."

She understood, but it stung. Just as it must of stung Jim to recall the complicated feelings provoked by Pam's temporary reunion with Roy. They both sat quietly for a moment, recollecting on the stir of emotions a single event like Phyllis's wedding could provoke. Eventually, after a thoughtful moment, Pam said: "Well we're here now, right?"

Jim nodded. "I am sorry, though. These are incredible." He flipped the page a couple more times, soon landing on the last drawing of a Georgia O'Keefe flower. The image, erotic in nature, created an atmosphere that the two had rarely explored in one another's presence.

Little moments of sexual tension were frequent in their relationship, but none to the extent were acknowledgment would have been suitable. Pam could attest for a lot of wondering, pondering, and lusting over Jim, and her bold self would assume the same from him. It was a side of their sexualities that was, for the most part, unchartered between them.

While Jim was looking at the image, Pam thought back to their most blatant display of their physical connection: the kiss by his desk during the office casino fundraiser. She'd varied, throughout the past year, on the amount she'd thought about and suppressed that memory. On the one hand, she remembered it as wrought with longing and passion, and on the other she remembered it as confusing, painful and unfaithful to Roy. It was a memory that she'd often get swept away with when she was feeling hopeful about Jim, and one she would numb her mind to try to avoid reminding her of the disparity of their relationship.

.

It was a long night, dramatically different from the day. Their date had turned out far more cathartic than Pam, and likely Jim, had ever imagined. They'd gone so long desiring one another without open reciprocation that to unite seamlessly in a mere declaration of "I love you" seemed weak.

Pam was glad for their dialogue. She felt lighter and entirely closer to Jim than she'd ever had. Call it making up for lost time, call it kindred souls – she was elated to have him in her house.

.

"This isn't exactly how I thought this night would go." Jim was spooning a scoopful of coffee liqueur and walnut ice cream into his mouth. "When I was driving home today I had no idea what the hell I was planning."

"You just drove?"

"Yeah, pretty much." Jim shrugged. "I had decided, obviously, that I needed to tell you how I felt. Or show you how I felt, I guess."

Pam relished in his choice of the word 'needed' instead of 'wanted'. _Needed_, like it was essential to his survival. I wonder where she fell on Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs for Jim Halpert?

"That's a big risk for you, ditching a promotion and leaving Karen at a fountain in New York? I mean, boy, that's got to be a scary choice to make."

"It was," He agreed simply, a warm smile spreading across his face, "Worth it, though."

"Definitely worth it."

In that sweet exchange, Jim set down his bowl, hopped from his chair to Pam on the couch, and sat down next to her. Their knees were touching.

Pam had considered how their first date kiss would go. She had predicted a standard end of the night kiss at the door, where Jim bid her goodnight; it would be a sweet prelude for them to indulge in the next day at work. She had also considered the opposite: a dramatic sweep-you-off-your-feet display, whisking one another off to Pam's bedroom.

What happened was perfectly in between: Jim was obviously going to kiss her – he had it written all over his face – but he was hesitant and thoughtful in his moving close. Perhaps wary of the rejection that followed their last kiss, or perhaps good old fashion butterflies – Pam couldn't tell which it was he was feeling. The intense look on his face suggested a combination the two, and likely a thousand more feelings.

So, Pam took the initiative. She didn't question it; she just reached up and kissed him, two hands softly placed on his cheeks. He responded immediately, the two of them pulling the other in close in a rush of bravery.

It was incredible: a real personal connection. Soft lips against soft lips; Jim arms tucked around Pam's waist, hers around his neck.

She was entirely glad that she had worn pants. In a skirt, she would have faced the difficulty of kissing on a couch while sitting down. In her pants, she comfortably maneuvered, swinging her leg on top of Jim, really melting into him.

.

They stayed like that for a long time, heating up and cooling down, running fingers along one another. Jim ran his hand up and down Pam's leg, along her back, through her hair. She hadn't _made out_ in the longest time. At least, not without an obvious crescendo into having sex.

Pam had thought about whether or not she and Jim would have sex tonight. It seemed likely, from the pace they were at right down, though the deep outpouring of their longing for one another seemed to remain on the couch for now. Pam could accept that. It was a strange situation with Jim. Typically, she wouldn't sleep with someone on the first date (then again, that's because she had been in high school with Roy and hadn't really gone on the most official of 'dates'). In her other dating adventures, none had ever panned out to get so far as to sleep together.

With Jim in was different. In a way, their years of friendship seemed to totally erase Pam's wariness in sleeping with someone who, in all likelihood, had slept with his ex-girlfriend or at least _kissed _his ex-girlfriend that very morning in New York City.

For a minute, she felt like she was violating Jim in some way, like he was cheating. She pulled away from him and tried to garner control over her heart rate. She looked at Jim. His eyes were clear and glassy, his pupils dilates, his swollen lips pursed with a look of disbelief. He grinned all at once the sexiest and most endearing grin, and pressed his forehead to hears, the two of them chuckling a little.

Pam spoke first, her voice cracking. "This feels surreal."

It did. Her arms were intertwined around Jim's; his were the same. Jim nodded in agreement. If he didn't feel the same hesitation as Pam about sleeping together, he hid it well. He, too, looked shy and uncertain, just as Pam assumed that she did.

It was perhaps unnecessary, both of their shyness, but it was there. It wasn't the most Hollywood-perfect kissing scene, but it was completely honest. It was the two of them, completely enamoured in one another, doing their best to navigate a situation that had been a long time want of theirs. They were happily warm in one another's presence, relishing in the mere closeness of proximity their date allowed.

Both were certain that sex would come eventually, and incredibly so. Right now, though, both were happy to sit on Pam's couch and close their eyes. Jim rested his cheek against her head, causing a warm knot of joy in Pam's stomach.

.


End file.
